


MAG 166 B-Side: Squirm

by thewickling (Diviana)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Complicated Relationships, Episode: e166 The Worms (The Magnus Archives), I Wrote this at 2AM go ahead and judge me, M/M, No Smut, POV Richard the Worm (The Magnus Archives), Sort of One-Sided Richard the Worm/Sam the Worm (TMA), Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives), Temporary Character Death, how do I tag this?, pre-vore, vore adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:02:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28261332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diviana/pseuds/thewickling
Summary: Buried deep in the field was a worm named Richard who wished to not be alone. When Sam appeared, he has to reckon with the consequence of his desires.Alternatively, MAG 166 The Worms in Richard's POV but make it vore adjacent.
Relationships: Richard the Worm/Sam the Worm (The Magnus Archives)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	MAG 166 B-Side: Squirm

Deep, deep, deep in the bowels of the earth, a worm squirmed. The earth squeezes and squishes him. Its relentless force engraved into his soul.

Richard. He faintly recalled that name. He had been Richard or perhaps he had liked Richard. Still, he held onto Richard. It was all he had left. It was only proof he had. He had to be Richard. He needed to be. You couldn't be a person without a name.

He hadn't always been a worm.

At that thought, the soil gave under his pale, wormish form. He sank down, down, _down_. His environment punished him, as it always had, for dreaming.

The damp and the dirt and the dark was all he had now. It was always his life. Just exchange the earth compacting him for the endless scramble for funds to to survive another day. It had not been that much different from now.

No. If he had the room, he would shake his head. No, that couldn't be true. So he squrimed.

His body found purchase in the terrible, slick sod. He dragged and scraped his flesh. He began his ascend as he always had in his lowest moments. He gathered his meager emotions. He didn't dare call it such a grand word as hope. He did not want much. He merely desired a less painful existence.

He had to believe that whatever his life had been better than this. Otherwise, he would never move again. The rain would soft the soil and slide him so deep into these depths he would never see the light again.

What choice did he have?

He believed.

He lied to himself. He covered the chasm in his soul. The part that knew Richard. That understood Richard had never even been content. That was certain Richard had always been trapped. That recalled the monotonous compute to work in wee hours of the morning and return the last rays of the evening.

Rocks dug into his unnatural existence. They punched him back into his body. The sharp chilling soil pierced him. It gnawed on his nerves but never evenly enough to ignore nor harshly enough as to numb.

Apathy wasn't allowed. He must experience every moment of his aching existence. He must feel the unyielding press of earth.

At least, that life had sun, not this distant light that taunted him. He knew of its warmth but recalled none of it. All he knew was the damp and the dirt. The person he was before, if he had ever been a person, was lost the day he sank down into the depths of this entombment. 

Had he always been buried in the damp?

He'd give anything to see another face. He even missed small talk. He wanted nothing more than to sit in a coffee shop as others bustled around him. He yearned to just experience others.

All he had was this narrow moist, sodding tunnel. It hugged him like death. It squeezed him with all of its slick, spongy soil.

All he had was himself for company. His thoughts clung to him like a shroud. Richard hated being alone. He always had.

He hated how no matter close to happiness was he was a tiny voice dragged him under. He hated how he always sank. He hated how he could never surface.

If he bought a pint that was less money for his petrol. If he strolled through the park that was an hour he was wasting. If he closed his eyes for a millisecond, everything would come crashing down on him.

The distant light vanished.

Whatever organ circulating his sluggish blood skipped a beat. He wails. As little as he believed, he still dreamed feeling the light. He still hoped it was the sun.

In the light's place is a pale, mottled worm face. This hairless intruder draws closer by millimeters. The slick sod sends him to south.

What had once been a heart raced. Richards flushed. _He_ was not alone.

There were others like him. He knew this. His voice joined theirs in earth-shaking shrieking. Before the avalanche of sod choked them.

This was different. Richard could not explain as he drank in dirt-caked face. He was with someone else.

It hit him.

He wasn't alone.

This new worm faced down. Richard faced up. This other worm squirmed down. Richard dragged himself up. They can't be together.

Can one call it a death march when neither can move by more than a merest fraction of a millimeter? The inevitable crawl began. They exist in the same tunnel doomed to destroy another for the promise of distant spot of light that they will never reach.

He was not alone. That thought substained Richard. It filled him with emotion. One that were difficult to name. He was not _alone_.

Richard's narrow world expanded by one. Its ragged breath becomes as familiar as the endless patter of rain. His awareness stretched beyond the weight of the dirt. He sensed its approach with anticipation and horror. But he was not alone.

In this absence of light, only the kiss of teeth along Richard's battered flesh proves that he had finally met the other.

His companion's name is Sam. Richard doesn't know. Nor is he aware that Sam like him dreamed of the sun and lived the same gaunt existence.

Yet Richard knew Sam more intimately than he knew the coworkers he greeted every day. He knew Sam's persistence in every gnash of teeth. He knew Sam's determination from every strangled outcry.

Sam was so very warm. Even the trickle of blood was a brilliant sunburst in this dull and damp world. Sam tasted like salt and sod as tears mingled with dirt on Richard's tongue. Sam was sharp. Richard's flesh sang with pain and his eyes flashed with agony. Still he felt more than mud and moisture and mush.

His world narrowed to Sam: to how he despised Sam for taking away his light; to how he missed being able to just exist together for the comfort of just being with someone else; and to how this is the most anyone had ever made Richard feel.

Each heartbeat is punctuated with dread. Richard might never see the sun again. Richard might be alone again.

He wasn't sure which fate is worse.

Yet every bite that sent him toward death also brought with it ecstasy. He was alive. He was real. He must be to hurt like this.

This pain was so bright. It pushed out the damp and the dirt. Richard nearly forgot his earthly tomb.

All he had was Sam.

His last thought was how he wished he still had arms. Half to shut Sam's mouth and half to wipe away Sam's tears. He yearned for selfish reasons. He wanted to feel someone else and have their warmth seep into his skin. The flickers when his teeth grazed Sam were not enough. He wanted more. He dreamed of more.

Richard stilled. He stayed still for a very long time. Yet he was not dead. The End's tendrils don't reach here. This was not the Corpse Roads.

He awakes in near darkness. Soil squeezes his battered flesh. Dread finds him first. Then, the familiar sharp chill nips.

It takes a second before he remembers Sam, his companion. He bends his neck upward. Darkness scretches out in front of him.An irregular ring of light proves that Sam is ahead of him.

Strangely enough instead of hatred, something flutters in Richard. He squirms. The light beyond Sam never comforted Richard, not really. He always hoped it was the sun but he never dared to dream of it.

He can reach Sam. They touched before. Unlike his vague memories of the sun, Sam is clear and close. He is an obtainable goal.

He still tastes iron. The phantom ache of teeth is vibrant as anymore can be in this hopeless place. Plus, he isn't alone.

Richard climbs with what must have once been fingers. Every millimeter brings him closer to Sam. He yearns for when his awareness will expand. He anticipates existing in tandem with Sam. He can taste the comfort of Sam on the cusp of his senses.

He has the advantage now. He'll sink into Sam without worry of battering teeth. He suspects Sam will struggle like he will when Sam returns the favor. Yet he can't but yearn for that iron warmth.

How far had Richard been consumed before he ceased? If he began from the tail, would the warmth stay until he reached the same spot? Would he manage to swallow all of Sam into his bellow? Would he escape the creeping worry that Sam was behind him ready to repeat the process?

He mentally shakes off his thoughts. First he must find Sam. Then he can savor their proximity. After that, he can bathe in the heat of another being. Past that, whether or not Sam will or can return the favor... a shiver runs down Richard's former spine.

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't an excuse just context. I found out there was a Sam the Worm fic. My first thought was oh it must be Sam the Worm/Richard the Worm... when it wasn't someone I mentioned to this to someone, I got dared.
> 
> I googled the vore definiton and I don't think this fic counts as it so vore adjacent it is.
> 
> Also, the ratings and warnings were because I am too tired to consider if this counts as T or M. Also whether this counts as graphic depiction of violence.
> 
> Anyway enjoy!


End file.
